


Bear Paws and Kitten Claws - A Drabble Collection

by piggywrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Additional Warnings in Chapter Notes, Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic, Romance, Various themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggywrites/pseuds/piggywrites
Summary: A collection of variously-themed RusMona drabbles, most of which were written for the HWD drabble games.





	1. Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all and welcome to this collection of RusMona drabbles ;v; 
> 
> Most, if not all, of these were written for the [Hetalia Writers' Discord](https://hetaliawritersdiscord.tumblr.com/) weekly drabble games!! I hope you'll enjoy them! 
> 
> The prompts will be written in the titles of each chapter! ♥

“You aren’t going to stay in there all evening, are you?”    
  
Ivan perked up at the sound of Angélique’s voice, looking over the edge of the pool he was currently floating in.    
There was something peaceful about being submerged. Ivan believed this, at least. Being entirely engulfed by water made him feel calm, for once in his life- he loved the way he was carried, as though his massive body was lighter than a feather... And, above all, it’s what he needed the most in the dire heat of the summer months.   
  
As the small woman who was hosting him called to him, he came closer to her, resting his arms on the poolside while still making a point to remain in the water.    
  
“It’s too hot out,” he said to her, glancing up as he watch her settle plates down on the terrace’s table.     
  
Angélique smiled and pushed her sunglasses up onto her head as she looked out to the sky beyond her back yard. The sun was already setting. The air would be much cooler soon enough.    
  
“Now, aren’t you glad to have a rich friend with a pool?“ she teased him as she stepped closer to the poolside, taking off her little heeled sandals before she sat down next to him, letting her little feet slip into the chlorine-filled water. She looked Ivan over for a moment , pouting before she gave the water a little kick, splashing him a little.   
  
Ivan came closer resting his chin on her knee for a second before he tugged at the light fabrics of her sundress. His hand wandered under the hem of the skirt simply resting against her thigh as he looked up to her-    
With a grin, Angélique ran a hand through his wet hair, brushing a few strands out of his face before she flicked at his forehead with a gentle laugh.    
  
“We have cantaloupes and prosciutto for dinner. You’ll open the rosé for me, won’t you, _chou_?”   
  
Ivan glanced up again, pulling his hands from under Angélique’s skirt before he kicked off from the edge of the pool, returning to his laze-induced floating like a defiant child.

“You won’t get me out of the water for now. Try again in an hour or two.”


	2. Crowded

Russia was grateful, if anything, to have someone to spend the cold winter nights with. It was surprising that that _someone_ happened to be Miss Monaco. 

They’d sit together by the fireplace and he’d watch her, all huddled up in a fuzzy blanket he wrapped around her- she only let her hands poke out to move the chess pieces over the board that was settled between them. She was so serious, so focused on their game… He could only gaze over her, the way she furrowed her brow, the way she pouted in frustration when he took her pieces- There was no one else, really, that he could have wanted to have as a companion to flee from the crowds. 

Manicured nails drummed against the board, catching his attention. First looking at the painted red nails, then the gentle hand that carried them, he felt compelled to take it and press those gentle, delicate fingers to his lips-

“ _Ivan_ , it’s your turn.” 

Glancing back up, the Russian blinked and looked over his darling friend’s face. With an awkward grin, he shrugged moved his rook, taking it to the other side of the board. 

“ _Checkmate_.” he announced before he placed his hand atop of hers, grinning as he saw the childish, disappointed expression on her face. _She had always been a sore loser._

Monaco sighed and let the blanket that covered her fall from her shoulders, reaching for the packet of cards on the coffee table with a frown and a pout.

“ _Fine_. You win. Now let’s play a different game.”


	3. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Warning:_ Implied cheating/infidelity

“You know… I didn’t mean any harm by it. I never wanted to hurt you- I didn’t even know you’d be hurt by _that_. Oh, Ivan…”

Through the darkness of Russia’s hotel room, Monaco attempted to reason with him over the events that had occurred earlier that evening. With Italy’s arm around her waist, with his lips against her cheek, with the white wine, her red lips, their smiles, her laughter- Russia’s presence alone, making it all stop.

Right now, he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over, glaring ahead at… something. Nothing. Nothing was there. He just glared out the bay window, and Monaco could only watch as he did.

“We were just talking. There was nothing else to it- Ivan, _please_!”

She dared to approach him, leaning over, her knee on the bed as she attempted to come closer. He didn’t speak. He didn’t say a word. All she could hear was the deep hum of his breaths, as he inhaled, exhaled, the way he did when he was angry.

She loved his anger. She loved his rage. She loved it when it was directed at anybody but her. She didn’t want him to be angry at _her_ , no, of course not, she couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t bear his cold, impersonal, silent anger.

For she knew his silence was a threat. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Speak to me… Say something,” she whispered, stepping around the bed to come in front of him. “I’m telling you Feliciano and I were just _talking_! I swear! I didn’t know you were so jealous! I-” she gasped, clasping her hands together as she shook her head. “Just _say something_! Don’t just sit there in silence! Yell at me! Say something, _I beg you!_ ”

Stomping a little heeled foot on the floor, she whined and begged, cheeks flushed as she panicked and waited, waited for him to give her a response.

Finally, the Russian looked up to her, lilac eyes cold as he glared at her, as he watched her pathetically beg for his attention. A reaction. _Something_. 

He would deny her all of these.

Realising this, Monaco stared down at him and started sniffling, hiccupping and whimpering like the brat she was before she eventually started sobbing in front of him. As her hands went up to wipe her tears, to rub her eyes, she shook her head and ruined her makeup.

At this point, she didn’t even care about smudging her mascara. All she wanted was to be freed from this unbearable silence. 


	4. Spill + Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is set in the 1880s

_ She wanted to kiss him. _

It had come to _Mademoiselle’s_ attention that she desperately wished to lock lips with a certain Russian gentleman- the one with whom she had exchanged letters for the past few years. 

Russia could only come visit her once, or even twice a year, when life back at home allowed him to frivolously escape his duties… And each time he came, Monaco’s heart swelled with anticipation. She wondered, really, if _this_ time would be the time where she could finally have what she desired- 

A kiss. Just one. Perhaps more, if she’d allow herself to be greedy- Or perhaps not. Goodness knows. She couldn’t allow herself more. She was a woman who was expected to be virtuous.

Never mind the gambling and money-handling. A woman who wanted to be kissed _surely_ lacked virtue. 

Sitting in her parlour, they talked for hours- or, rather, she _watched him_ talk for hours.   
Russia went on about how he was slowly adapting to his new Tsar, how he deeply regretted the previous one- He admitted to certain ideas and hopes for him and his people, and even mentioned those fascinating new books he had read… And yet, despite this, Monaco didn’t listen. All she did was look up to him, almost spilling her tea as she drowned out his words and only focused on the sound of his voice… And the way his lips moved. 

She was losing patience, and as the minutes went by, she felt herself grow tense. Antsy. Breathless. Frustrated. 

“I apologise, Miss Monaco, I speak a lot, don’t I?”

“Oh-” she smiled tensely, settling her cup of tea back on the silver tray. “It’s fine, _Monsieur_ , really…”

She looked him over once again, cheeks a little flushed as his lilac eyes met her own. She was tempted to ask, to test the waters, simply wondering if, after all this time, they could, perhaps… 

_Kiss_?

Blinking, Monaco arose from the little couch upon which she sat, straightening her dress before she stepped over to the door of the parlour in hopes of finding a maid to bring them more tea, more cake, perhaps even a cigar for the gentleman- 

_ The idle pleasures of the Bourgeoisie.  _

She could distract herself from her carnal desires so long as she had those, no? 


	5. Candlelight + Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as an appetizer for a pre-1917 thingy I'm gonna write... Enjoy :D

She would always write to him by candlelight.

It was always such a pleasure to her, you see? The correspondence she shared with the Nation of Russia, that is- that  _ frivolous  _ epistolary endeavour. 

She wrote to him and he wrote back, inked cursive letters painting the portrait of the most bittersweet of friendships- from St. Petersburg to Monté-Carlo, forth and back, their exchange only strengthened the unlikely bond that had been formed between them. 

It was like a dream to her, really. For once in her life, Monaco felt like someone appreciated her for her true worth- Russia was, perhaps, a foreign, distant gentleman, but he respected her. He cherished her earnestly and honestly, and he was above all  _ genuine- _

Alas, he was also a man of convictions. A man with dreams and ideals of his own, hopes and desires that could not be limited by an unimportant principality’s whims and the vague promise of a woman’s gentle touch. 

Though a clever, intelligent young lady, Monaco naively believed that this exchange was as important to him as it was to her- 

Alas... The letters, as tender as they may have been, were a distraction from the harsh realities of Russia's world. An escape from the blizzard of his country's woes. 

One day, reality caught up with him. 

That day, the letters _stopped_. 

And from that day on, she wrote by candlelight no more.


	6. regret + hysteria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a year after the Revolution of 1917.

‘Grief’ was too weak of a word to describe the emotion Angélique felt when the _horrendous_ news had reached Monté-Carlo.   
  
The newspaper settled upon the mahogany desk of Mademoiselle’s study was crumpled at the edges with how tightly she had gripped it as she read the headlines and the printed articles again, and again, and again, just to be sure that she hadn’t misread the contents-   
  
It had been bound to happen, all this bloodshed, all this horror. Angélique had guessed that, in the midst of the war that was raging, something like this would brew among the working classes. With communist ideologies spreading like wildfire- or as Angélique would rather put it, like _venom_ coursing through one’s veins.   
  
And Ivan... Ivan. Ivan had followed. Her Ivan. _Hers_. She couldn’t believe it. So _that_ is why he hadn’t replied to her letters. _That_ is why she had been left hopelessly waiting- because he had switched sides, because he had taken a liking to ideas of a more crimson hue.   
  
Angélique wasn’t grieving, no, she was _seething_.    
To think she had dedicated to much of her time and energy to him- to them. What were they, now? Oh, she was sure he hated her and her frivolous, prissy little rich girl quirks and mannerisms and hobbies and likings. She was convinced he mocked her and everything she represented, wealth, luxury, the sickly-sweet, warm, comfortable lap of the bourgeois lifestyle she enjoyed. He hated her. She was sure. He hated her. _He hated her_.    
  
She sobbed ever since she realised this. Whatever it was they had, it was over. She groaned and whined frantically, stomping around her study while shaking and whimpering hysterically.   
  
_Hysterical_. She was _hysterical_.    
  
She remembered all the letters they had sent each other prior to this. She remembered when he had last come down to visit her. The time they spent together, their shared moments of complicity, the games of chess by the fireplace, the late night conversations, their kisses, their intimacy-   
  
Angélique brought her dainty fingers to her lips when she was reminded of those precious, fleeting moments. She winced at it all and started crying again, lunging for her desk to rip up the newspaper that brought her the terrible news- while also knocking down her ink stand and ruining her pretty cream-coloured lace dress.   
She fell upon her desk, hiding her face in her arms as she sobbed again. She still couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it at all. She wanted this to be a nightmare she’d wake up from soon- and that in the morning, she’d receive a letter from Ivan. Her Ivan. _Hers_.    
  
That oaf, that bear, that _monster_. That slav. That _communist_. That liar, that cheater, that _disgusting_ excuse of a man.   
  
She wanted him back. She wanted him to be hers again.   
  
Alas, there was nothing she could ever do about it. Ivan belonged to his people, not to _her_.   
  
Perhaps, one could assume he was never hers to begin with.


End file.
